


Without Your Warmth

by My_Mind_Palace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Be patient, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock Angst, M/M, Mystrade fluff, Sherlock is a Brat, The fluff comes later, You have to wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Mind_Palace/pseuds/My_Mind_Palace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is used to the way his relationship with Sherlock works; however, everyone has their breaking point. Hurt feelings can make everyone lose their warmth, but that also doesn't mean it's gone forever. Meanwhile, some people seem to have everything figured out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: A bratty and slightly annoying Sherlock, and suggested sex/a terrible sex joke 
> 
> This is the very first fanfic my friend and I have written together, or at all for that matter, so we were really excited to put it up. We would love to hear all of the comments and feedback anyone has to offer, so don't be shy! Anyhow, enjoy! :)

It was a dreary day, rainy and cloudy and foggy. God, Sherlock hated fog. It was everywhere, obscuring and distracting his senses. Fog was not the kind of weather to be chasing a murderer or serial killer in. Sherlock sighed. _If only_ , he thought with an internal groan. The only interesting case this week had been a mere six. For the whole week! Sherlock supposed it had something to do with Lestrade’s engagement, as his brother had finally gotten the guts to ask the detective to be his.

However, this also meant that Mycroft was willing to do _anything_ to make sure they would go undisturbed for the first week of their engagement. And this meant getting rid of all the criminals before Sherlock had a chance to “pester” Lestrade about them. _As if_ I’m _the problem_ , thought Sherlock bitterly as he turned up his collar against the wind. He was heading back to Baker Street, coming back from St. Bart’s. Just like the rest of the week, there was nothing worth his time there, and he had sulked out without saying “good-bye” to Molly. _The whole of the world is_ trying _to be dull! Well, maybe John and I can do something…..._ ** _fun_**.

When Sherlock arrived at the weathered flat, he was disappointed yet again. Where had John run off to this time? Surely there wasn’t anything more exciting to do than him...Right? Plopping down on the comfortable black couch, Sherlock looked around at the flat. The fog billowing outside, covering the entire city like a blanket. The skull sitting casually on the mantlepiece, the books and research for cases scattered around. Sherlock sighed. Where. Was. John.

***

So much sitting. Sherlock sat in the dusty sitting room, waiting for John to come back. He could hear the clock ticking somewhere in the hallway, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and check what time it was. Himself sat on the couch, hands tucked neatly under his chin, and fuming. His day was not going well. First, he was out of nicotine patches. Second, he’d just ripped his favorite dressing robe. And finally, John. Was. Not. Home.

John. Was. Not. Home.

But he was, however, at the surgery. He’d had a long but productive day, average in relation to all the other one’s he’d had this week. Actually, thinking back, it probably was better than the rest of the days of his week. Sherlock had been a pain in the arse all week long, moaning and groaning about not having any clients or cases to keep his busy.

Unsurprisingly, Sherlock was still moaning and groaning to John. He simply wasn’t there to feel the heartache for it. John loved Sherlock. There was no denying it. However, that didn’t stop his boyfriend from being a huge prick when he was in a mood. John sighed in his quiet office, his mind drifting back to Sherlock. He knew he was going through a lot. The lack of cases and the engagement and being left alone with his own thoughts for too long….John sighed again and grabbed his coat, getting ready to go home and attend to his six year old of a boyfriend.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST....and swearing. Also, suggested sex. Angst might be the most alarming of those though.

“Sherlock?! Sheeeeerlock?” John pounded up the stairs as he prepared to face the consequences of letting Sherlock be alone in the flat for a long period of time. For Christ’s sakes, how did that man survive on his own for so long? John was surprised Sherlock hadn’t burnt down the flat as an “experiment.” Walking into the room, John wasn’t shocked to see his boyfriend sprawled out on their couch, limbs splayed across the furniture.

Sherlock’s ears perked up, but other than that, he continued to stare at the wall. _Oh no_ , thought John, _Here we go_. Silently, poor Dr. Watson braced himself for the inevitable. Sherlock looked up, and let his eyes flick over John. “Oh, John,” he said, keeping his voice painfully level, “how nice of you to _show up_.” John sighed. “Sherlock-” “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN JOHN!” Sherlock jumped off the couch, waving his arms accusedly at the accused. “I’VE BEEN WAITING. HERE. FOR YOU. FOR OVER TWO HOURS!!!” John took another deep breath, and willed himself to be patient., He knew Sherlock was appreciative of his work, he had just gotten lonely, that’s all… “Don’t be like this love,” John pleaded to the intense eyes burning holes through him, “you knew that today I had to go into the surgery, I promised Sarah.”

Sherlock simply scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Your fascination with pleasing people is utterly preposterous, John. You enlisted in the war to try and help your country, to try to save the men and women and children who pleaded for your help. What you stupidly failed to realize is YOU CAN’T PLEASE EVERYONE. You need to wrap your tiny little brain around that now, before you do something that you’ll end up regretting.”

John was shocked, dumbfounded even. He knew Sherlock could be cruel, but this was crossing the line. And by the look in Sherlock’s bright orbs, he knew it too.

In the very back of Sherlock mind, something stirred. It always did when he was talking to John, because no matter what he did, he was **_always_** observing, especially when it came to him. His brilliant mind might have been muddled by his senseless venting, but something still began to process after the last words left his lips. _Too much_ , part of him screamed, _TOO MUCH, TOO MUCH, TOO MUCH!!!!!!_ He could see the change in John instantly, and it wouldn’t have taken the world’s only consulting detective to notice the transformation. John’s entire body stiffened, and his eyes flared in a way Sherlock hated seeing. He could see John putting up walls in his mind, and around his heart. He saw the patience fade, and he saw the cold demeanor of a soldier appear. _John…_ was the last thing Sherlock had time to think before John exploded.

“Sherlock.” Was all that he said. His voice steely calm, scarily calm. The calm before the storm, the eye of the hurricane. John was more frightening than any criminal Sherlock had ever faced, the eyes of his only true friend narrowing in demise, in disgust. “Sherlock I want you out of my sight. Now. Go upstairs, leave the flat, hell, go to Antarctica for all I care. I can’t deal with you for another second.”

Sherlock stared, but John didn’t flinch, not one bit. He stood there, with his eyes colder than dry ice. “John…” Sherlock said, voice barely above a whisper. John just stared at him. “Don’t.” Sherlock’s mind was working far too quickly, and everything became a blur in a matter of seconds. He was replaying his own damn words in his head and watching John and his chest hurt and his eyes burned and he couldn’t see and… _Oh my God, what have I done?_ Sherlock was near collapsing right then and there, onto the cold floor of the sitting room. John watched him. It hurt. He saw a thousand different emotions pass over the pale face, and for a moment, his resolve wavered. Part of him wanted to rush over, and scoop Sherlock into his arms. Give him little kisses and tell him it was okay, and card his fingers through his dark curls until his head stopped throbbing. But no. _He has to know_ , John thought to himself, _he_ needs _to know, everyone has their boundaries._

Sherlock almost collapsed right then and there, but he saw the pain in John’s eyes. This was taking all of John’s willpower to go through with. Maybe if Sherlock could just convince him….

”No.”

A single word spewed from the mouth of the man he had come to love interrupted his thoughts. “No, Sherlock. I don’t have to be a fucking consulting detective to realize that you’re planning something. Just leave, please. It will make this easier for the both of us.”

Dejected, Sherlock locked eyes with the steely blue, the soldier’s blue. The last time he saw that same shade of blue was when he left a decomposing head in the fridge for a week. That turned out to be a bit not good.

“Sherlock, just go.”

And with those two words, the same kind and caring soldier with the melodic voice and endearing patience to Sherlock’s antics broke the heart of a man who had never loved.

***

Sherlock only had enough presence of mind to grab his coat and scarf. He bundled up, buttoning up all the way to his chin, but he still felt cold. No, not just cold. Empty. He looked at the road in front of him, wondering where he could go. He had forgotten to bring money, John always brought the-oh. Sherlock shoved the thought away, and thought. _I can’t face him, not now….but what am I going to do….?_ He didn’t have any favors with hotels or anything he that he could cash in, he had no money, and the only other person with room in their house who would help him would be… _Mycroft_. Sherlock shuddered as the realization dawned on him. Mycroft would always take him in, and it didn’t matter that Lestrade and him were engaged now. However, that wouldn’t stop them from “celebrating their engagement”. He cast wildly around for another option, but the fog circled above and clogged his mind. Sighing heavily, Sherlock hailed a cab and begrudgingly gave the address for Mycroft and Lestrade’s flat. As he sulked in the back seat, his head swirled with thoughts of John, disgust of the situation, and _Wow, What a shit week._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The cab pulled up to the two-story estate, with sloping lawns and flowerbeds obstructed by the gloom. Sherlock paid the cabbie slowly, not eager to face his brother and Lestrade. His feet dragged as he made his way up the front porch, and he tried to hide the tears that were starting to pool in his eyes. Knowing Mycroft, Sherlock’s presence would probably already be known at the house, with the highest-end security system money could buy. In fact, just as Sherlock came to this conclusion, a beaming Mycroft swung open the door for him.

“Ah, brother mine. What can I do for you this fine evening? I’m sure you wouldn’t come unless it was truly important. I know how you do detest asking for any help from me”

Lestrade walked up behind Mycroft, wearing sweat pants and a ratty old t-shirt. Wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist and burying a head in his shoulder, he stifled a yawn and looked up at Sherlock. At first, Lestrade looked like he was going to say something along the lines of “Piss off,” but once he saw the tears in Sherlock’s eyes, he relented and reached to open the door wider.

As much as it repelled Sherlock to see Mycroft with anyone he knew, much less Lestrade, he couldn’t help feeling a pang of pain at the sight of them together. They were too much like him and John, only John was short enough so Sherlock could bury his face in his hair and nose the top of his ears- Stop! He shouted furiously at his mind. Mycroft watched Sherlock go through his little cycle. He knew exactly what was going on, but Lestrade was a get a bit worried at the slightly mad looks that passed through Sherlock eyes as he thought furiously for the next minutes. “Ummmm, are you alright mate?” asked Lestrade from where he stood behind Mycroft. Sherlock’s head snapped up as he remembered where he was. “Oh…yes, well, actually, no, not at all. I feel terrible, thanks for asking.” Lestrade blinked at Sherlock for a minute before turning his head to glance at Mycroft. “Yes, you may stay with us. Alice has had your room prepared for you.” Sherlock furrowed his brow. “Isn’t her name Anthea?” he asked. “No,” Mycroft said smoothly, “that was yesterday.” Lestrade chuckled at Mycroft, and both men moved aside to let Sherlock in.

Sherlock moved past them and down the hall, he knew the house quite well from his many visits. As he walked by, he glanced back at Mycroft and Lestrade,  who were holding hands and sharing a Look. Sherlock shook his head in disgust, and carried on to his room. How could they hold hands and live in perfect harmony while him and John were still figuring out how to coexist without throttling each other?! It didn’t make any sense to Sherlock, but then again, sentiment never did. Moving down the hall and stepping into his room for the night, Sherlock glanced around. Not much had changed since last time, just a new rug and curtains because the old ones was wearing thin. Settling down on the mattress, Sherlock sighed. There was a hole in his heart without his other half. His best friend and lover, missing from his room, missing from his life. Sherlock gave a depressed sigh, and changed into the pajamas that were laid on the silk sheets. And without the warmth of his John, he embarked upon a night where he got the worst sleep he’d had in months.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Suggested Sex (it's really hardly there), and "Fact 4" isn't real....my co-author just thinks she's cool sometimes.

John wasn’t faring very well either. After Sherlock had left, he had collapsed against the wall and wept. He felt broken, he felt heartless, and he felt so very confused. He loved Sherlock, and Sherlock loved him. So why had that just happened? And, oh hell, Sherlock only took his coat and scarf and he has nowhere to go. John had run outside, but Sherlock was gone by then. Cursing himself and everything within a five miles radius, John had stomped back up the stairs and collapsed on the couch. He just kept on crying, like a school boy who had just had his first crush reject him. He didn’t know how long he cried for, and he didn’t quite know when it stopped. He only got up once he heard his phone beep. He rushed over, thinking it might be Sherlock apologizing. Instead, it was the other brother.

_He’s at my estate._

_-MH_

John just stared at the screen before sighing. He didn’t have any more tears left, but he did sniff as he shuffled to his empty bedroom. Their empty bedroom. He changed into the first shirt he ran into, and it just happened to be one of Sherlock’s. He stared at the fabric clinging to him, and thought of its owner, who often did the same thing. And then, John Hamish Watson laid on his side looking at the emptiness of the bed. It was cold too, and it wasn’t surprising. He felt cold from the inside-out, without Sherlock’s warmth.

***

When Sherlock awoke in the morning, it was neither pleasant nor graceful. There was no mumbled, “good morning” from John, no kiss to wake him up. God, Sherlock missed him. But what to do? Surly John loved him, he knew that much. Sherlock decided to retreat to his mind palace and sort through the facts one by one.

1\. John loved him. It was obvious not only from the way he looked at him, but from John’s smiles and kisses and whispered “I love you’s” right before he falls asleep.

2\. Sherlock loved John. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but even Sherlock Holmes knew love when he felt it

 

3\. John was mad, but not forever. If John loved Sherlock as much as Sherlock thought he did, then he would have felt the same way last night. Alone and sad, lost and confused.

4\. The average rate at which humans are able to retain emotions are thirteen hours. It was long past that mark, but John has been known to be extraordinary. Sherlock only hoped that he didn’t decide to demonstrate this particular quality right now, as that would be a bit not good.

From the evidence that he drew, Sherlock decided the only logical conclusion was to go back to Baker Street immediately. But then he thought of the stormy blue John’s eyes were last night, of the anger and frustration and passion that burned within them. Sherlock decided to let John cool down a bit, to just text him and let him know that he was okay and not dying. Because above all the other things on the list, Sherlock knew that John cared. Or at least, that’s what he hoped. Sherlock soon realized the flaw in his plan to text John….he’d forgotten his phone at Baker Street. Cursing silently to himself, he decided to let it go, knowing that Mycroft had probably already sent word. He always did. Sherlock got himself ready without much enthusiasm, and then changed into the set of clothes on the bed. As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, Mycroft always took care of him. Once he was done, he walked downstairs for breakfast, which he could already smell in the kitchen. He wasn’t really hungry, but he would never hear the end of it if he didn’t go down. Mycroft and Lestrade were already down there, still being as annoyingly affectionate as before. Mycroft would say something quietly to Greg, and then Greg would giggle (really, a grown DI, _giggling_. Sherlock almost couldn’t hide his distaste.). And then Greg would go up behind Mycroft and kiss the back of his neck, and Mycroft would reach behind him to pull Greg forward until they were face to face. Sherlock simply poured himself coffee and sat staring out the window, sipping his drink every once and a while. When Mycroft was finally able to pry Greg off of him, he sauntered over to Sherlock, trying to put away the grin that had been sitting on his face. “So, did you find your sleep satisfactory brother?” Sherlock looked at him and muttered, “No, but I can tell you didn’t sleep very much either. In fact, I’d say you were up all night. Excited, are we?” he said sarcastically. By that time Lestrade had wandered over, and he just grinned at Sherlock as he hugged Mycroft's waist again. “Hush, brother mine. We both know the real reason you’re lashing out at myself and Lestrade. Need I say it?” Sherlock blushed quickly and looked down at his now cold cup of coffee. The air felt suddenly tense, all three could feel the awkwardness like a cloud that hung heavily over the room. Mycroft still knew how to get right under Sherlock’s skin, it had been a talent of his ever since they were young. Responding to his fiance’s comment, Lestrade slapped Mycroft on the arse and said, “Oh Mycroft, give him a break. He and John just had a row, and even though he’s Sherlock _fucking_ Holmes he still deserves some peace.” Mycroft simply turned and pecked Lestade on the lips, whispering quietly that he was lucky to have someone like his Gregory.

By this time, Sherlock had recovered from Mycroft’s blow, and was rolling his eyes at the couple as they finally sat down to eat. Sherlock really wasn’t surprised when they did the whole, “let-me-feed-you-by-putting-the-food-in-between-my-teeth-and-then-you-have-to- come-get-it-and-then-we-kiss” thing, but it repelled him nonetheless. Sherlock’s thoughts drifted to John, eating breakfast alone in 221B Baker Street, and making only one cup of tea.

***

John was actually not even out of bed yet. He had been up for hours, the good majority of the night. When he had woken up in the morning, in Sherlock’s shirt in their empty bed, he couldn’t help himself from crying all over again. That was all done now, and he was simply laying in bed, the will to do anything lost to him. He wasn’t hungry, but he was sick to his stomach. Part of him had never stopped hoping that sometime during the night, Sherlock would crawl into bed with him and curl his lanky frame around his stouter one. They would fit together, with their legs hopelessly tangled, and wake up in the morning smelling like each other. They would wake up with a kiss, then John would go make the tea, and Sherlock would apologize again and again and again. But back in reality, Sherlock still wasn’t back, John hadn’t gotten up, and he couldn’t sort through himself like Sherlock could.

Limb by limb, piece by bloody piece, John picked himself up off their shared bed. So what if Sherlock hadn’t called? John had survived for 32 years without the man, he could deal with one day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, swearing, Mycroft's seduction....the usual ;)

Back at Mycroft’s house- Well, surely now it was Lestrade's too-Sherlock was back in his room, stuck in a deadlock with himself.  With no phone and no money, no pesky brother breathing down his neck, Sherlock simply could not decide the best course of action. Mycroft and Lestrade had left the house, off to do something domestic like shopping or, heaven forbid, _wedding planning_. Sherlock detested that sort of thing, anything that didn’t have his brain stimulated or his body high off adrenaline was a no in his books.

***

John sat on the couch in 221B Baker Street in a similar predicament. John didn’t really want to be the one who apologized; he always did, and Sherlock had clearly started this argument. Besides, he couldn’t let Sherlock think he would always come back, just like that. No, no, Sherlock had to work for him. But, oh, how he wanted to. He hated having rows with Sherlock, they made him feel like shit. Sighing (he’d been doing that a lot lately), John pulled out his mobile and dialed a number.

“ _Hey John, how are you_ ,” Greg’s voice chirped cheerfully from the other end of the phone.

“Truthfully Greg, not very good. But you knew that already, didn’t you? Sherlock’s at your place, right?”

“ _Yeah, he crashed there last night, What happened exactly? He seemed to be sulking, wouldn’t tell me or Mycroft what was going on….though I don’t really think he would have told Myc_.” There was the muffled sound of another voice on the phone, and Lestrade’s voice came through the phone, though John could tell he had pulled away from it a bit. “ _Sorry babe, but really!_ ” The couple quarreled good-naturedly on the other end of the line for a moment before Greg turned his attention back to John. “ _Sorry mate, what’s wrong?_ ”

John decided to let his slight annoyance at the whole cute bit go, and said, “Well, I came home and he was in a bad mood. He ended up yelling at me, and then I told him to- to leave me alone for a little while.” John put his face in his hands as he remembered their argument.

“ _Oh, oh God John. Did you and Sherlock…..._ break up?”

John didn’t even have to consider. “Fuck no Greg, we just had a row! I just- he just- HE’S JUST FRUSTRATING, THAT’S ALL!”

The other end of the line was silent for a minute, and the Greg spoke carefully. “ _Look mate, I think you guys need to talk it out. He seemed really upset, and you seem really upset. Why don’t you come over for dinner, and then you guys can talk it out afterwards?_ ”

John didn’t quite know why this upset him so much, but he burst out, “I CAN’T BE THE ONE TO APOLOGIZE!”

“ _........I didn’t say you had to.._ ”  

***

John sighed in frustration as he stood in front of the mirror. His tie was crooked, one side ridiculously longer than the other. Sherlock always used to fix that, taking the tie from John, and John taking a kiss in return. Bloody hell, John needed Sherlock. They were two pieces of a puzzle, they fit together perfectly. Yanking off his tie, John decided to simply go without. Hell, it wasn’t like they hadn’t seen him dress casually before.

***

Sherlock was bored. Sitting in a room all day and sulking with no company was not exactly his idea of fun. But sitting in that room, Sherlock had a lot of time to think. And that thinking was mostly about John, and about the cruel things they’d both said the night before. The words played over and over in his mind, cruel words shouted loud and mean into the room. And god, Sherlock wished he could take those words back. He’d give _anything_ to be with John right now, even if they were doing something horrendously dull, like sitting and waiting or eating, god Sherlock hated eating, but at the very least he would have his John. And with that final thought, he resolved to plop down on the mattress and cry himself into oblivion.

***

Gregory sighed, and clicked off his mobile. “That was John, I presume,” Mycroft commented as Greg slid his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah…but you knew that already, even without me picking up the phone, didn’t you? Hell, you’re so clever, you probably knew it was John before my mobile started ringing.” Mycroft gave Greg a fond smile, and wrapped his arms around his fiancee's neck. “Don’t be so silly, love,” he said, nuzzling into his hair. “I don’t know _everything_.” “Close enough,” Greg grinned at him. “Anyhow, we’ll be having John over for dinner tonight…I know I didn’t check with you, but it’s ok, right?” Mycroft continued to nuzzle Greg while he murmured, “Oh yes. The sooner my brother is out of the estate, the sooner you and I can have our time together. _Alone_. I’ve so missed being alone, haven’t you?” Mycroft traced a line down Greg’s neck as he said this, and the DI shivered, despite himself. “So, so much.” It was Mycroft’s turn to grin as he pulled away suddenly. “Well, we really must be going to get that food for dinner then, haven’t we,” he said brightly, obviously seeing the discontent in Greg’s eyes. He then proceeded to take out his phone and call one of his  many cars. “Bloody tease,” Greg muttered loud enough for Mycroft to hear.

***

When they arrived back at the estate, both Mycroft and Lestrade were unsurprised to find Sherlock continuing to sulk. As they entered the kitchen and put down the shopping, Lestrade turned around and smirked at Mycroft. Sauntering over to his fiancee, Lestrade began to lean in. He breathed softly along the line of Mycroft’s jaw, and whispered in his ear, “Now, where were we?”

Mycroft just laughed and pulled away, responding with a quick peck to the lips. “We, my dear Gregory, were just about to make some dinner for my lovely brother and his boyfriend.” Greg sighed. “I can’t say I’ll be sad when they’re gone,” he muttered grumpily, Mycroft laughed and turned to unpack the food they had bought. At that moment, Sherlock walked into the kitchen. He had heard noise from his bedroom, and with nothing better to do, had decided to come downstairs. He looked around for one moment, then asked, “Who’s coming over?” Greg, who knew Sherlock well enough not to be shocked at his deduced knowledge, glanced over at Mycroft. Mycroft glanced at Greg at the exact same moment, and then turned to Sherlock. “John.” Sherlock’s entire body tensed. John couldn’t come over here, he just couldn’t. _I’m not ready yet_ , the less logical side of his brain screamed. “I- I- You should have told me- I could have prepared- and John-” Sherlock sputtered at his brother, who remained the perfect image of calm the entire time. “What is there to prepare for, dear brother? It’s only your boyfriend- it’s not like _you’re scared_ of him, are you?” Sherlock’s arms continued to wave through the air, gesturing at nothing. “It’ll be good for you mate,” Lestrade tried, “for _both_ of you.” Sherlock huffed and strode out of the kitchen, back up to his room. “I’ll have Alanna bring you some fresh clothes!” Mycroft called after him.  

Sherlock just stomped all the harder up the stairs to his temporary room. He was beginning to have a mental breakdown. Well, no, Holmeses don’t have mental breakdowns, they categorize the overwhelming deluge of information into a proper set of coherent thoughts, but still, Sherlock was panicking. It’d only been a day since he’d last seen John, but it had felt like eternity. The whole “seperate” thing wasn’t going over so well for him. He missed John like crazy, missed the way their bodies curled together under the sheets, missed the small talk over afternoon tea, and the way John said “I love you,” every day without fail. But, at the same time, Sherlock was simply _terrified_ that talking to John wouldn’t fix anything, and John would still be mad that Sherlock had stepped over the line. Sherlock just hoped that John had been feeling the same way as he had for this brief period of recluse, and that this dinner that Lestrade and Mycroft cooked up would help him and John get back on with their lives.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst and Swearing....Also, a shirtless Sherlock :) 
> 
> So, time for dinner.....this should go well ;)

A black cab pulled up to the estate, and out stepped John Watson. After paying and thanking the cabbie, he turned to walk up the long gravel drive. Glancing at his watch, he realized he was a bit early, but decided that it would be fine. No use in delaying the whole event anyway. Reaching the door, he rung the doorbell and heard a muffled voice shout, “Coming!”

After a moment, the door opened, and Greg smiled out at John. “Hello!” Greg beamed to him, opening the door wider to let him through. “Really glad you came mate.” John managed a weak smile before looking around the place. He’d been there before, of course, but it never ceased to amaze him. It was sodding huge, especially compared to his humble little flat. The pang of envy didn’t last though, and John followed Greg into the kitchen. There, Mycroft was just taking a roast out of the oven. “Love,” Greg said as he and John walked in, “John’s here.” Mycroft set the roast on a rack to dry before turning to smile at John. “Good to see you again John. I must confess, you have the uncanny ability of getting under Sherlock’s skin…What’s your secret?” John’s stomach twisted unpleasantly at this. Mycroft may be the fiancee of his best mate and his boyfriend’s brother, but god, he could be as slimy as an eel. Greg paled a little and glanced at John. “Mycroft,” he said in a slightly strained voice, “would you help me make a _salad_?” His words were innocent enough, but Greg was chiding Mycroft with every other part of him. “Alright, alright,” Mycroft sighed, “but first, let me take John to see Sherlock.” John stiffened, but followed Mycroft up the stairs anyway. His heart was pounding much too hard and much too fast for comfort. _Oh hell, if I have a heart attack because of Sherlock I swear to God_ , he thought gloomily. Mycroft stopped at a door and waited for John to reach it before opening it. Inside, Sherlock was standing…shirtless. Apparently he had been in the middle of changing. _Fuck_. _Well_ , John thought, _it’s already off to a horrible start, can’t get much worse than this_. Walking into the room, John seemed very uncomfortable. It wasn’t because Sherlock was standing without a shirt, the whole situation made John want to squirm and run away like a frightened schoolboy. Hopefully, Mycroft would leave soon, because John didn’t think he could take another second in the awkward silence.

“John.” Sherlock said, and it was quiet, reserved. And John hated it. He hated that his Sherlock wasn’t there, that this other, more tentative version of his boyfriend was standing before him. Mycroft quietly said, “I’ll leave you two to sort things out.” And with that, the door was gently being pushed closed, and they were alone. “Sherlock.” John said, and even as he uttered the word, he could see Sherlock deducing him, figuring out how he was and how much he slept and whether he slept in his normal place or on Sherlock’s half of the bed. “I missed you,” John said, “the flat seemed empty without you taking up half the space.” Sherlock cracked a small smile-oh, how this man could melt his heart. He regretted ever spending one second away from his John. And with that thought, the great Sherlock Holmes realized that even though words would be said and fights would be fought, nights would be spent alone and together, he would move mountains just to see his John.

***

Still shirtless, Sherlock went up to John, with all the intent of snogging him into oblivion. But before he could even come close enough to feel John’s breath, the man himself held up a hand to stop him. “No,” he said, and Sherlock could tell it took an enormous amount of self-control. “It’s not-,” he faltered for a moment, “it’s not that simple.” Sherlock frowned down at him. _Why is he choosing now to be difficult?_ he wondered to himself. “I missed you more than I can say Sherlock,” John continued, “....but I didn’t forget why I had to sleep alone either.” Sherlock swallowed hard. John waited a moment, as though he expected a response, but when none came, he licked his lips and continued. “That was- that was too much Sherlock. It’s like you didn’t even care that I only went into the surgery for you. We need money Sherlock, and I don’t see how else we could make some. I don’t mind working, and I love doing it for you, but-” He paused again. “You can be so _selfish_. It makes me wonder sometimes if you only keep me around to be your- your plaything. Your source of entertainment. Is that all I am to you Sherlock?” Sherlock could see the tears welling up in John’s eyes, and he could feel his body failing to function. His stomach clenched, his heart pounded, and he suddenly had a massive pounding in his head. “I-” Sherlock started, but John cut him off. “I know you think you’re shit at sentiment, but fuck, that was the coldest thing anyone has ever said to me. _Anyone_. And those words came from you, Sherlock. _My boyfriend_.” Sherlock wanted to curl up somewhere far, far away. He was disgusted with himself; he could see every bit of pain, disappointment, betrayal, sadness, and anger John felt. It was written all over his face. And Sherlock had been the one to write it there.

***

It was a deadlock. Speckled green against furious blue, both men could feel the tension in the air. “John, I-,” he started, but faltered. He cast his eyes down and began to say, in a quick monologue, “I am sorry. Really and truly sorry. I never meant to be this bad. Spending the past day locked up in this room really has me thinking. You’re right, I _am_ selfish. I am probably the worst boyfriend in the entirety of England, possibly in the entire _world_. But, oh god John, I missed you so much.” Sherlock took a small, hesitant step closer to his boyfriend. “And I may have my faults, but if you don’t forgive me, I don’t know _what_ I’m going to do with myself. I’m- I’m lost without my blogger.” And Sherlock looked back up at John‘s eyes, the eyes of the man he would sacrifice anything for, even his own sanity. (Honestly, sometimes that’s what he felt like he was sacrificing, being with John.)

“Come here, you idiot.” And John covered the short distance to his boyfriend and embraced him, burying his face into Sherlock’s chest. And Sherlock hugged back as forceful as he could without hurting John, squeezing with all his might. John mumbled into Sherlock’s bare chest, “I missed you.” Sherlock then swooped down to capture John’s lips in a passionate kiss, missing far too much the sweet taste of his boyfriend’s lips against his. Pulling back for a mere second, Sherlock simply replied, “I love you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww, see, our boys love each other. :) Also, you'll have to forgive us for using a canon line in our fanfic, we're just lame like that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Suggested sex
> 
> Just a sweet little conclusion to the story, we thought you had deserved it ;)

Meanwhile, downstairs, Greg and Mycroft stood perfectly happy together, having never felt the same conflict as the couple upstairs. Mycroft stood behind Greg with one arm curled around his waist and the other rubbing his scalp. Greg hummed happily at this, holding the hand that was clutching him, “Do you reckon they’ll make up love?” Greg asked Mycroft, turning to look up at him. “Mmh, yes, I do believe there is a _very_ good chance. They can’t resist each other, just like we can’t.” Greg smiled at that, and Mycroft started kissing the space between his ear and collarbone. “Should I go check on them?” Greg asked. Mycroft considered for a moment before saying, “No, I think they’re getting along just fine. And besides,” he said pulling Greg closer, “this is much too comfortable for you to leave.”

***

Mycroft was right, though he almost always was about Sherlock. John and Sherlock were getting along _just fine_. Though they’d only been apart for one day, it seemed as though they hadn’t seen each other in centuries, the way they were carrying on. “Let me make you feel wanted, appreciated,” Sherlock had said in John’s ears. John was most willingly to let this happen, and smiled at the happy reunion.. Both came downstairs later for dinner looking considerably more ruffled than before, and they excused themselves from dinner unusually early to go home. Mycroft and Greg exchanged glances at this, but let the couple go with enthusiastic good-byes. Both couples were happy to be alone again, with each other.

**  
**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, if you've just read our story, thank you so much! It really means a lot to me and my co-author. As you may have noticed, we currently don't have any other works posted, but don't worry, there's more to come. :) In fact, we have another work in progress right now, and will begin releasing chapters soon, so you can be sure to be on the lookout :) Anyway, we really hoped you enjoyed, and if you could, give us some feedback! 
> 
> ~You've Just Seen a Glimpse Inside My_Mind_Palace


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